


A Fleeting Memory

by thosewhofall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesia fic, Hunter!Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Matefic, assumed death, but don't yell at me, packfic, sideswap, that's a spoiler, the death isn't a real thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosewhofall/pseuds/thosewhofall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a year since the battle with the Hunters took place. The Hale pack survived, but they lost the heart of the pack, and even a year later, it's still an open wound. That someone decides to drop salt into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: Please don't freak out. The first chapter is sad. It's supposed to be sad. Try to enjoy the sad. It gets moderately sadder but it has a HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR <3  
> sidenote: i own nothing.

“I thought I might find you here.” Sheriff Stilinski had his hands in his pockets as he loped over towards the gravestone. His voice was gruff as he stared at the young man who knelt on the ground, “It’s hard to believe he’s been gone for a year now, isn’t it?”

Scott McCall looked back up at the elder man, nodding, silent instead of his normally rambunctious state, “I miss him,” He said, his voice choked with unshed tears, “Isaac has already been here today, and Lydia and Jackson.” He took a long breath of the air and the Sheriff didn’t question it. “Erica and Boyd came yesterday.” He slumped, leaning against the stone, “We’re not the same as we were when he was around.” He said softly.

The sheriff nodded, “None of us are, son.” He reached out to give Scott an unneeded hand up. “C’mon. I’m making Stiles’ favorite for dinner tonight, burgers and curly fries in the fryer.” He smiled sadly at the McCall boy. “Tell the pack they’re all welcome.”

“I will.” Scott tried to smile back at him, glancing back once more at the headstone, reading the words he had memorized, the words that he had imbedded in his head, ‘Genim “Stiles” Stilinski, Born: 4/26/1995, Died: 1/25/2013, Forever in our hearts, Forever Pack.’ “Hey Sheriff.” He said softly. “Thanks for being there for us, for not disappearing.”

The Sheriff nodded, “Of course, Scott.” He put a hand on the young werewolf’s back and they walked out of the cemetery together. Neither of them talked, neither of them had to. In a way, the pain that the Sheriff felt, the loss of his only son, of the last person he had left in his life, had been softened by the presence of the pack. He’d become their father figure, he’d had a group of kids to help soften the edges of the pain that he felt every day over the loss of his son. And for Scott, who had grown up without a father, having the Sheriff to lean on when facing the loss of his best friend since preschool had been part of the reason he was able to carry on with his everyday life. Well. The Sheriff and Allison. 

Neither of them noticed (Scott’s senses were dulled by the grief in his blood) the quiet young man that walked through the cemetery towards the stone they had left.

Derek Hale stood in front of the stone with his hands in his jacket pockets, his dark eyes on the wording that he too had memorized. He stood there, silent, brooding, for a long time. There were few people who understood exactly how much the death of Stiles had affected Derek. Sure, his pack could feel his anguish, could feel the darkness and pain in his heart but none of them understood what Stiles had represented for Derek.

None of them knew about the one kiss that Stiles had stolen on New Years Eve, the smile he’d dragged off of Derek’s face for doing it. When the rest of the Pack had been busy with their own situation, Stiles had come to Derek’s house, and had been there to watch the ball drop, to kiss Derek at midnight and to remind him that he had a pack of people who loved him, and would be there in the future. In that night, Stiles had become the beacon of Derek’s future.

And now that beacon was missing. Derek was probably the only one who hadn’t given up on him yet. He remembered the battle that Stiles had ‘died’ in. He remembered the Hunters that had dragged him off, that had killed him. It had been him that had smelled Stiles’ blood on the forest floor. But his body had never been found. They had buried an empty casket, because the Sheriff had needed closure. The other wolves in the pack had needed closure.  They had accepted that Stiles had died, that the hunters had stolen his body as a last punishment to the Pack.

But not Derek. Because that midnight kiss had meant something to him, and it had meant something to Stiles, and after it, Derek could feel Stiles. They never talked about it, about the fact they had formed some kind of connection, about the fact that Stiles was in the process of becoming Derek’s mate. They both knew it, Derek inherently, and Stiles through the research he’d done on Peter’s computer. But it was this connection mostly that made Derek believe that Stiles was still alive, because if he wasn’t, he would know.

Dead or alive, Stiles wasn’t here, he wasn’t where Derek could see or where Derek could touch and smell and be sure that he was okay. The wolf whined as Derek stared at the headstone, but Derek ignored it. “Where are you, Stiles?” He asked softly, “Where did you go? Who took you?” Derek’s hands clenched into fists as he spoke, his claws cutting into the meat of his palms.

No one answered him. In the twelve times he’d been back to Stiles’ tombstone, there had never been anyone there to answer.  It was a cruel fate for Derek to endure, separation from his mate, while knowing he was alive. Regardless, there was no respite for him. Stiles was dead, gone, not with him, and it had been a year as of today. Everyone else had given up on him, even his father.

Derek still clung to the hope that he was alive. Even if he was weak, beaten, tortured, crippled, destroyed, he could still be alive. Derek could destroy whoever had hurt him and then make Stiles better. Stiles always got better, always bounced back. And he would have Derek and his pack and he would be okay, it would just take time. If Stiles was in his arms, Derek had all the time in the world.

But Derek could feel himself slipping away, feel the separation, the distance, dragging the life out of him. He missed Stiles, with every fiber of his being. He missed the wholeness of the pack when Stiles was around, he missed the camaraderie of movie nights and the sleepovers where they piled, the pack surrounding Stiles, protecting him in an instinctual way none of them understood. Derek just missed the smell of him, the sound of his laugh, the sight of his smile. He missed every piece of Stiles, and the feelings of sadness and loneliness had built up inside him.

But he had no one to talk to about it. There was no one he could tell, because _everyone_ thought Stiles was dead, and his name was taboo every other day of the year.  Nobody talked about Stiles, because everyone still hurt.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I Still don't own anything. This is chapter two. I have several chapters already written. Let me know what you think!

Sometimes, Stiles has these dreams of a far off place, where he had a best friend named Scott, and Scott had a girlfriend named Allison. And they had friends called Lydia, who Stiles really likes, and Jackson, who is kind of a dick, and Isaac and Erica and Boyd. And there was a mysterious boy in the woods, who wasn’t really a boy at all, called Derek, and Derek has an uncle named Peter, who is kind of creepy but dream!Stiles has some kind of agreement with him.. And of course, his father is there, but that’s what throws it all off for Stiles because his father is real. He knows his father is real, and that…doesn’t fit with the rest of the dream.

Because for the rest of the dream, Stiles is _friends_ with all these people and some of them are _werewolves,_ the kind he’s been trained for years of his life to hunt and destroy. The kind he could bring down with the single, spectacularly placed wolfsbane bullet. He’d done it before. He’d shot at a rogue, right between his eyes, and then he’d laughed when Argen had patted him on the back and told him he’d done a good job, and then proceeded to cut the werewolf in half.

In the dream, he was friends with them. He laughed, and joked, and went and did things with them. Which just…didn’t make any sense. Sure, there were parts of his life that he didn’t quite remember, like how his father had been declared an unfit father and Argen and Sirenia had taken him in after his mother died, and how he’d been injured, an injury that had left him in a coma for months. But he knew that what he dreamed of sometimes, didn’t make sense with what he knew.

And that funny feeling he got in his stomach, when Derek, the _Alpha_ werewolf came into his vision, he especially didn’t understand that one.

“Stiles…” Argen was at his door, “Stiles, we’re going to leave soon, Son, wake up and get ready please.”

Stiles yawned, “Alright. Be down in a minute.” He rolled to the side, and took the cocktail of pills Argen and Sirenia told him he needed for his brain injury. They were a combination of anti-depressants, BDNF activators and some anti-psychotics for when Stiles had his hallucinations. There was also Adderall, but he wasn’t sure he needed it. He’d never gone without it to test the theory.  He downed the pills without a second thought and then walked to the bathroom, staring at brown eyes and shaggy brown hair. There was a scar along his hairline, which is why he kept his hair long now, and his fingers reached up to brush it gently as he brushed his teeth.

“Stiles, honey, I made you breakfast.” Stiles turned to look at Sirenia, “Make sure you eat well honey, we’ve told you, the pack we’re going up against this week isn’t going to be an easy one, but the Alpha’s been causing some stir.”

Stiles spat into the sink, “Fucking Alphas, thinking they can do whatever they want.” He rolled his eyes and rinsed the toothbrush and his mouth, “I’ll eat this, get dressed and be down.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek, taking the plate of food.

The woman smiled at him and then headed away.  Stiles grabbed the breakfast burrito she’d made him; whole wheat tortilla and egg beaters instead of real eggs. But she’d put the organic ketchup that Stiles liked on it, so it was good. Stiles was used to eating healthy at this point. According to Argen, eating healthy was going to be the reason he survived in this world of supernatural beings. They were so fragile and human, and only keeping in shape would save them from a horrific death by werewolf, or worse, becoming werewolves themselves.

“Stiles are you ready?” A young woman peeked her head in, “Mama and Papa are already packed up.”

“I’m coming Sicily.” Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved the last bite in. “Get out so I can change.”

“Oh come on, like you care. I’ve seen you naked more—“

“Times when I was unconscious than you ever have conscious, I know. Just go.” Stiles pointed.

The dream had shaken him, he realized as he dressed. The sense of comfort that seemed so normal and yet it was a feeling that he never had. The image of a pack of human-wolves piling on him and keeping him warm and safe, it was so beautifully painful he wondered why it felt so real, why the emotions in his dreams were so tangible, why they had the capacity to throw him off so thoroughly. None of it mattered right now. He’d told Sirenia about the dream once, and she’d told him that she’d make sure that they adjusted his medication, since clearly something was unbalanced. He just nodded and shrugged, and a few weeks later, the dreams had stopped.

But now they were back. Stiles stared in the mirror, fingered the scar on his hairline, and then reached into the drawer for his holster, strapping it into his pants and slipping the gun in, checking that it was loaded with wolfsbane bullets. His eyes hardened in the mirror, and he nodded at himself, dressed in black and prepared for what he was about to go up against.

“Stiles are you—“

“I’m coming.” He cut off Sicily and slipped downstairs past her. He knew how the family worked. They wouldn’t leave Stiles behind. They had never once left Stiles alone. They kept him with them, kept him close. He hadn’t understood why, blamed it on the brain injury, on the fact that he was still recovering nearly a year after he had woken up. There were a lot of pieces in his life that Stiles didn’t quite understand.

Well. He didn’t understand them first thing in the morning, but by the time he was strapping the holster on, by the time that the drugs kicked in, he just didn’t think that much anymore. He was a trained killer, and he was very good at what he did. Dreams be damned, he wasn’t friends with any werewolves, and his aim was improving with every dead wolf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More Stiles!   
> I still own nothing.

“People are going to claim to know you when you get back here, Stiles.” Sirenia said as they drove, “The werewolf pack of Beacon Hills has gotten out of hand. We know this might be hard for you.” She turned to look at him, “You might even see your father. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“This Alpha has to be stopped.” Stiles said softly. “And my father was declared unfit.” Stiles returned the words that had been drilled into his head, the drug-state of his brain making him pliable and under the control of the Hunters. “You guys saved me, healed me, made me better.” Stiles smiled lazily, “I’ll be fine, Sirenia.”

Sicily turned to her brother-by-association, “I’ll be with you anyway, Sty.”

“I hate that name.” He snapped, rolling his eyes, “Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” Sicily snickered to herself and leaned back against the car door, “So what’s so dangerous about this pack, Mama?”

It was her father that answered, “Its their bond, the pack’s bonds. They’re strong. The pack can feed off of each other, and their Alpha has a powerful assistant, one who used to be an Alpha, and through the spell of some girl came back. There is not a member of this pack that it wouldn’t die for, and that makes it dangerous. And then there’s the fact that they’re going to think that they know Stiles. It’s how they act, how they are, they make friends with their enemies. As soon as they know we are in town, as soon as they see Stiles, they’ll try to be friends with him again. He used to live there, he used to know them, and they’ll try to use that knowledge to their advantage.”

Stiles closed his eyes, breathing slowly, mellowed out by the drugs that were pumped through his system. “They think they know me?”

“Stiles, we’ve told you that you were born in Beacon Hills. You used to be friends with some of them, but then you learned better when they started dabbling into less desirable acts. Then you were injured, and we got custody of you.” Sirenia said softly, “And now look at you, healthy and whole again.” She smiled at him affectionately. “So just be prepared.”

“I’m always prepared, Sirenia.” Stiles gave her a smile, but it faltered. The dream came back to him again, the flutter in his stomach when he saw the man called Derek, the happiness when he saw the rest of them. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit with what Argen and Sirenia were telling him. He didn’t know what to expect, coming into this place that was old-but-new, and being the person he was. The last time he had been here was when he’d been hurt. He still didn’t remember why it had happened, and whenever he mentioned it, Sirenia started crying.

His fingers absently found his scar, tracing it. He’d clearly hit his head, hard enough to split open. Did these people, these werewolves, did they have anything to do with his injury? Why did he feel like they were good? Why didn’t he hate them? He’d tried to think back to that time, to before his life with Sirenia and Argen. His brain was muddled. He got flashes of images of his father and of his mother, but there was no specific information for him to gain from his memories. The injury had destroyed any chance of that. He remembered everything since he’d woken with startling clarity, thanks to the medicines he was on, they kept his memory sharp.

 He just wished his history, that the person he used to be, could have been made more clear for him. It was part of what this trip was for, for Stiles. He needed to understand what was going on, he needed to know his history, his past. He needed to remember why he knew these people, and he needed to know how his mother had died, why his father was an unfit father. These people, they loved him, they’d trained him, they taught him, they healed him. Stiles loved them, but they kept things from him, and Stiles desperately needed the answers to his questions.

Sicily stared at him from the side, her eyes calculating. She and her parents all knew the risks of taking Stiles back to Beacon Hills. It was going to be a challenge for them all. The people of Beacon Hills thought Stiles was dead, they hadn’t realized that he’d been taken. They’d moved on without him. But Stiles, well, he was very much alive, and he’d very quickly be accepted back into their circles. They’d have a snake in the Hale packs grass, and if all went well, Stiles could destroy the pack from the inside out, starting with the bastard Alpha.

All they had to do was get away with it, was keep Stiles alive and in the dark about where he was, who he was, and what he was doing. They had to keep him away from dangerous situations he couldn’t get himself out of. They had to keep him on his medication and make sure he was never alone with the pack. They had to keep reinforcing the story that they’d told him. It was risky, everything about the kidnap and brainwash of Stiles Stilinski had been risky. And this was the end result; decimation of the Hale Pack in its entirety.

Stiles eyes caught the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign and sat up more fully. “We’re here.” He said softly.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Argen asked critically?

Stiles nodded, eyes on the road, “I’m ready.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More Derek feels for ya. <3  
> Still don't own shit.

It was Derek that smelled it first, the casual burst of a scent that was painfully familiar. He froze in what he was doing, his hands stopping on the bolt he was tightening. His wolf gave a joyful yip that Derek ignored, hurrying to tighten the bolt so he can stand up and look around. His eyes spied through the open door of the auto repair shop that he worked at a group of people, an older man and woman, a young woman, and a teenager. Derek swallowed hard as he stared. This was impossible. This was not happening. This was impossible. The wolf whined and urged Derek to go to the boy, but he stayed put.

He had to be seeing things, had to be confused. Because there was absolutely no reason for why Stiles Stilinski was walking down Main Street with a group of people he didn’t know, and why he was fucking here and alive and yet not looking like himself. From what Derek could see, he was calm. His hands didn’t flutter; his body wasn’t wired through with restless energy. He looked…wrong. There was something wrong. Derek didn’t understand, and the wolf just smelled its mate and wanted it.

Derek turned back to the car, shaking his head and carrying on, ignoring the sadness in his heart.  He wanted to warn the Pack, to warn the Sheriff, but what was he going to say? Stiles is alive and here but something is very very wrong? That wasn’t a text you sent. Not the day after the one year anniversary of someone’s death.  That was not a text anyone wanted to get or read.  Not when there was no explanation behind it.

Derek finished the car quickly, put his jacket on and followed Stiles’ scent to a motel close to the edge of town. The car parked that smelled like him was a large SUV, and Derek knew the car. It had been one of the families involved in the attack that had resulted in Stiles’ ‘death’. The weapons in the back told him exactly what kind of enemy he was up against. There were new hunters in town. And somehow, they had someone who smelled like Stiles.  It was the perfect weapon for a weak, mourning werewolf pack.

He couldn’t tell them about Stiles, couldn’t bring up that taboo word, taboo person, but he did send out a text as he walked back towards town.

_New hunters in town, Buddy system in effect. No excuses. D._

He hadn’t implemented buddy system since Stiles’ death, and he felt his own words immediately. There was a set buddy system. Scott and Allison, Jackson and Lydia, Peter and Isaac, Boyd and Erica, and him and…Stiles. With Stiles gone, there was a hole in the system. He was up against Hunters with the ultimate weapon, and didn’t have the brains of his normal operation to protect him, to prepare for things. Lydia was good at research, she knew how to look up things and how to organize it, but she didn’t have the drive that Stiles had. She didn’t learn the information, commit it to memory, be able to recite it without notes. She didn’t immerse herself in what she had to learn the way Stiles had.

Lydia was good, but she wasn’t Stiles.  Derek knew in his head that nobody was ever going to be Stiles. That had been made obvious at dinner last night, when they’d broken off into pairs, talking, and Derek had been by his lonesome and Sheriff had come over to him and sat down, handed him a beer and just looked at him.

_“You miss him.” The sheriff had said._

_“Everyone misses him.” Derek answered, taking a long drag on the beer._

_“Not like you do.” The sheriff crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “I know you kids, Derek. I’m a dad, I know more than you think.”_

_Derek just looked  at him and then looked away, “Yes, I miss him.”_

_“He loved you too, you know.” The Sheriff tried for a smile, tears shining in his eyes, “I would have enjoyed having you as a son-in-law._

_Derek’s eyes widened and then filled with tears that he choked back, swallowing hard before he could even look back at the Sheriff. He just stared, and then nodded, “I know he did.” But he didn’t say anything else. He couldn’t tell the Sheriff how true it was, how true his words were._

_Because that would mean he’d have to explain that he can feel Stiles still alive._

_And nobody wants to know that._

Derek jumped as his pocket vibrated.

_Who is your buddy? L._

Of course. Because they couldn’t let it go. They couldn’t drop it, They couldn’t have just temporarily forgotten that there were nine of them, instead of ten. Derek shook his head and texted back.

_I’m the alpha, I don’t need one. D._

The response was instantaneous.

_He never let you get away with that. L._

Derek stared at his phone. They normally never mentioned Stiles and especially never mentioned him to Derek. That wasn’t right, it was cruel and mean and it drove daggers into Derek’s heart in a way he didn’t like to think about. They didn’t talk to him about Stiles and Lydia was pushing the issue and it made him angry.

_Back off, beta. D._

Derek hurried through town back to the shop so he could pick up his car, climbing in and sitting against the soft, supple leather and turning in his seat to stare at Stiles’ jacket that he kept in the backseat. He touched it softly, biting his bottom lip as he did. This was all some strange dream. All of this. The hunters being back, Stiles’ scent being on that boy. It was all…none of it made sense. Nothing had made sense without Stiles, it was like Derek could feel himself slipping away. He could feel himself losing it.

All over a boy. A boy that had made the mistake of fixing a broken werewolf.

Derek was glad he didn’t have a buddy. There was no one to see him cry that way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Short one for you:3

The diner they go to dinner at is painfully familiar for Stiles. People keep looking at him funny, and he doesn’t understand why. The waitress knows what he was planning on ordering before he ordered it and people were just staring at him like he is an enigma they are trying to find out. Argen is going on about some logistics that half of Stiles’ brain is paying attention to but mostly he is trying to find out why the town is so shocked to see him, and why none of these people are giving him a friendly look or asking him what brings him back around town.

“Oh my god.” The words shock Stiles and he looks up, eyebrows drawing together in a tight V of confusion as he looks around for the source of the words. A girl with bright red hair stares at him, tears bubbling in her eyes. She doesn’t say a word, just turns and walks back out of the diner, one of the staff following her with two large bags of takeout. Stiles watches her through the glass, watches her fall to her knees, sobbing. A young man with dirty blond curls climbs out of the vehicle she had almost made it back to, and glances inside the store, meeting Stiles eyes before Stiles looks away.

“I don’t understand.” Stiles says finally, cutting Argen off, “Why…why did that happen? Why is that girl crying out there because she walked into the diner and saw me? Why are people looking at me like…like I’m back from the dead.”

“It has to be the Sheriff.” Sirenia answers, “He must have convinced them all you had died in order to cover up the fact that he’d lost custody of you.” She set her jaw, “It’s despicable really, rather than face the shame of losing his only son, he fabricates a lie that you’re dead. No wonder that girl is crying. She’s seen a ghost.”

“Did I know her?” Stiles asked, taking a drink of his water, “And what about the blond one outside, with the curly hair?” When he looks back up they’re both gone, of course.

“Her name is Lydia Martin.” Argen answers, “She’s the Hale pack’s researcher. There’s rumours of a supernatural gift, but she’s not a werewolf. The blond one, with the curls, he’s Isaac Lahey. He is a known wolf.” Argen looks at Stiles, “We warned you this wasn’t going to be easy, Stiles. It’s not too late to leave, if you think you’re not ready.”

“I just don’t…understand.” He put a hand to his head, “It’s giving me a headache.”

Sirenia was quick to offer him a pill, “Take this darling, and we’l l get out of here, so that you can go back and lay down. This is a lot for you to take in, I’m sure.” She smiled kindly at him.

Stiles stared at the pill, and then took it, thankful for the quieting of his brain, leaving him focused on what Argen was saying. He liked the  drugs, liked the not thinking. Thinking right now, it was just confusing, it was almost painful, and there was too much that Stiles didn’t know to be comfortable in his surroundings. He’d have to get to the bottom of this eventually, he just wasn’t sure how.

But for now, he slipped into the glorious silence of his mind, where all that existed was himself, his family, and the big bad wolves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Here you go. I'm trying to stay a few installments ahead of where I'm posting. Also, just a reminder, I don't have a beta reader! SO keep that in mind please!

“Derek he’s back. Stiles is here, Stiles is back holy shit you said Hunters were in town but you didn’t’ say that they had _Stiles._ ” Lydia burst through Derek’s front door, Isaac at her back with the food, and she stopped abruptly when she smelled the alcohol. “You saw him.”

“I smelled him.” Derek answered, eyes red and the bottle of whiskey in his hand half empty, “I wish this worked.” He laughed, holding it up, a hollow, broken laugh, “It burns off too quickly.”  He dropped it onto the coffee table in front of him, “I take it you’ve told the rest of the Pack?”

Lydia stared at her alpha, with tears in her eyes, nodding, “What are we going to do Derek?” She sat on the couch across from him, curling into a ball, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. “He was dead. We all saw the blood, there was no way he could lose that much blood and still be alive. How could he have survived that? How can he be alive and how can he not have come back to us?” Her voice broke on her last word and she crumpled, emotions getting the better of her.

Derek didn’t speak, didn’t know what to say, just sat there. The words were on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to have to explain it more than once. He looked at Isaac, whose own blue eyes were bloodshot and wet.

It doesn’t take long for the pack to show up. Jackson’s first instinct is Lydia, curling around her, stroking through her hair, holding her and rocking her until her sobs subsided. Scott was a wreck, anxious and looking around and unable to sit still, constantly moving. Scott felt it more than anyone, maybe even more than Derek, the need to see Stiles, to protect. Stiles was like a brother to Scott, and losing him had torn him to bits. Derek understood that, but right now he really needed him to stop moving.

Erica was torn up, huddled against Isaac’s shoulder with Boyd’s hand on her back, rubbing softly. None of the wolves were okay. Peter, who had walked downstairs last, leaned against the wall opposite the rest of the pack, quietly observing without saying much. Peter knew better than to try to get involved too much in pack business. He still wasn’t the favorite of most of the pack, who he had, at various points in time, tried to kill. Isaac, however, looked up over at him, and Peter flicked a small smile of comfort back at the pup.

“Stiles is alive.” Derek said, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “Somehow, Stiles is alive, and he’s with a family of hunters.” Derek’s voice usually sounded strong, resounding with authority and the prowess that comes from being an Alpha. He just sounded sad and broken, “Stiles was never dead. I’ve always known he was alive.” The pack began to protest but Derek’s eyes flashed red, “Stiles is my mate.”

That silenced them further, none of them knowing how to help him cope with the pain he had to be in. It was Peter that spoke, “And you can feel him. You’ve always been able to feel him.”

“Yes but I couldn’t find him. But now I’ve found him  and he…”

“He has absolutely no idea who he is.” Lydia finished, looking up, “Ask Isaac, I walked into the diner and he was just sitting there.  Just eating, not talking, and he looked at me and he had this look of confusion on his face and…” She choked out a  sob, “Isaac…” She croaked for him to finish.

Isaac closed his eyes, “He asked the family who we were. Stiles…He’s not himself. There’s something wrong.”

“Well obviously.” Jackson said, softly, “Stiles is in town, he didn’t run to his fathers house or come running to check on Derek. That’s his MO, that’s what Stiles does. So obviously, it has to be an imposter. Stiles _died._ ”

“It’s not an imposter.” Derek said, putting his head in his hands, “I just don’t understand how he survived. That’s what I’ve never understood.”

“Stiles is extraordinary.” Peter supplied, “Much like Lydia. And Allison who…Scott, where is Allison tonight?”

Scott smirked, but it faltered, “She thought it might be more useful if she went with her father. To meet with the Roux family. To ask why they’ve come to Beacon Hills.”

“Roux.” Derek exhaled, looking up, “Roux, Sirenia and Argen, daughter Sicily. They were there.”

“There?” Erica asked, looking up from Isaac’s shoulder.

“The day…” Derek choked on another hollow laugh, “The day Stiles didn’t die.”

“Well the answer’s quite clear, isn’t it?” Peter said, sitting on the edge of the couch closest to Isaac, who leaned his head eagerly against the ex-Alpha’s leg, “They kidnapped him.”

“But it’s Stiles, even kidnapped, he’d be himself.” Scott said.

“Amnesia.” Lydia said, eyes widening as she sat up, “Of course. Of course why didn’t I see it? The blood, it was from a headwound, that’s how we suspected Stiles died, falling from the stakeout point to land on his head. What if that happened, and…he survived? The Roux’ took him, and…he woke up and they made him think he was someone, something else?”

“A hunter.” Derek said, nodding, “They took someone who had trained with werewolves and taught him to kill them.” He swallowed, “That’s brilliant.” He looked at Peter and then Lydia, “Where do we go from here? How do we recover the old Stiles?”

“We make him remember.” Lydia answered. “Somehow.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ANGST ALERT. Don't hate me!

That night, in the hotel room he shared with the rest of his family, Stiles' nightmares were worse than they had ever been. He dreamed about laughing and joking and a lifelong crush on the redhead he'd seen at the diner. He dreamed about running his hand through the blond wolf's hair while his other hand turned the pages of a book that he had rested on his knee. The werewolf had been in his bed. Then the dreams shifted and he dreamed of a battle, sitting in a tree with a gun and shaky hands and then he was falling and falling and falling but he never hit the ground. And when he woke up his head was throbbing and he was soaked in a cold sweat. He slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, standing under the hot spray until his head felt a modicum better.

None of it made sense in the slightest. Nothing about any of the things that Stiles was dealing with made sense. He’d barely known these people, they’d only been his friends until they’d gotten too wrapped up in the werewolf thing and then he’d stopped hanging out with them and then his mother had died and he’d been injured and he’d lived with Argen and Sirenia ever since. So why did it feel like these people, these monsters and allies of, why did they feel like family? Why did Stiles feel guilty for making the red-head, Lydia, her name was, cry? Why did he feel like he needed to apologize? These people consulted with monsters, they were monsters, some of them. They weren’t the kind of people that Stiles had ever been able to rationalize being friends with.

He sat on the bed in just his jeans, walking outside. He knew that Sirenia or Argen would be awake by now, and coming out to check on him before long, but he needed air, needed to think, needed to make his mind work. If he’d been born here, if he’d been hurt here, maybe then it was here that he could unlock memories of a life he didn’t remember. His head was still throbbing even as he tipped it back, leaning it against the door and letting out a long breath. The night air was chilly, just enough to raise a layer of bumps on the exposed skin. His body had changed since he’d come out of a coma. The training that they had put him through had hardened him, any baby fat had melted off. He was the perfect weapon, really. He was made to take down Alpha werewolves. He had to be fast, strong, and deadly.

And Stiles was. He was unsuspecting and then out of nowhere Alpha’s fell beneath his hand, a well-placed shot and a cleave of a knife to take off their head. Argen preferred to split the body, but Stiles thought that was just a bit excessive really. After all, even a werewolf couldn’t re-attach his own head. They weren’t leviathan. Werewolves had their weaknesses to combat their strengths, and from personal experience, Stiles was pretty sure that it wasn’t intelligence that kept them alive, but sheer luck and also strength and speed. So Stiles had to become their equal, and he had to be smarter than them. It was a system and it was one Stiles was very good at.

He would have missed it if he wasn’t trained to be observant. The brush of leaves and the glimpse of red eyes.  His own dark ones narrowed. “Hale.” He snarled. That was the Alpha’s name. He moved to open the door, closing it and locking it behind him. He glanced out the front window and the eyes were gone, the werewolf gone. What had it been doing out there? Was he coming to kill him? Did Stiles know the Alpha? Was he the dark eyed man who Stiles called Derek in his dreams? Stiles leaned against the inside of the door.

“Was there a problem?” Argen is sitting up in bed, his head cocked at Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head and moves to return to bed, slipping out of his jeans and under the sheets. He reaches for the pills he keeps beside the bed, and it simultaneously makes his headache go away and lets him sleep. Stiles doesn’t dream anymore that night.

-

Derek’s wolf is desperate to get closer to Stiles, and Derek is pacing his own room at the recently renovated house. He isn’t sleeping anyway. Not with Stiles so close, so painfully, unbearably close and yet so far away at the same time. He was desperate to touch, to hold, to taste, to see if it was really him. He wanted to be wrong, to know that it was an imposter and not the reason his heart was tugging him towards the motel. All Derek wanted was to not feel Stiles there. Because at least when he didn’t know where Stiles was, he could lie to himself, he could pretend like maybe things were going to be okay. Maybe Stiles was healing, maybe he was really dead.

But not this. Not that he was a different person, that he didn’t know who he was or who Derek was. He didn’t remember the shared feelings and the quiet kiss and what was brewing between them. He didn’t remember that he was going to be the center of Derek’s world and that they were supposed to be happy. He’d probably forgotten that he’d promised Derek that he’d never be alone again. He was gone, the Stiles Derek had started the mating process with? He was gone. This new Stiles…he was dangerous, and he probably didn’t even realize how much so. If he was a hunter, if they’d trained him, he’d be impervious to the pack; none of them would hurt him, but still able to kill.

Derek smelled him before he saw him, his mate, his home, his future. He smelled the warm crisp scent of Stiles freshly showered, and then he saw him, the wolf whimpering, begging him to go closer, but Derek knew he was too close already. Stiles had changed. The slopes and planes of his body were longer and leaner and more perfect and it made him ache to kiss and nuzzle every inch of his being because _Stiles was alive._ Instead he sat back, stared for a moment, until Stiles caught him and he had to go. Hale. The name like a curse on Stiles’ breath. Never, ever had he been called that, not to his face.

It made him wonder if maybe he shouldn’t just roll over and let Stiles kill him. It might hurt less than this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY  
> I've literally had the worst couple of weeks and my focus has been complete shit (probably leading up to the fact that i've been incredibly sick the last few days.) Now i'm on my game again and writing the chapter that comes after this one, but here you go! <3 Thanks for sticking with me! I'm so sorry!~ PS thank you for all the lovely comments!

The pack always knew when Derek was upset. It was because he was the Alpha. He was the moral center of their compasses and he was supposed to be their leader, but right now, he was literally splitting at the seams. He didn’t look at them, the few that were already up, as he wandered into the house, walking to his room and curling onto his bed, head buried in his pillow, trying to remember how to breathe. For a long time Derek had been numb. He’d felt nothing, said nothing, done very little, but he’d been okay with it.

And then a boy had come into his life. A boy with big eyes and an even bigger heart. A boy who was quietly dangerous, a boy who knew too much and used his knowledge for too little. Stiles was never the hero, Derek knew that, Stiles was the perfect sidekick, he did what he had to, ensuring the success of Scott or Derek, whoever he was helping, but he always had his own agenda, his own reasons for doing what he was doing. He was an assistant, he was a researcher, and he was _human._

It was that fact that Derek appreciated the most about him. Stiles was human and vulnerable and in a way the pack didn’t, Stiles needed Derek around. And that had also been the fact that had destroyed Derek when they found the pool of Stiles’ blood beneath the tree he’d been scouting in. Stiles was fragile and human and he’d needed Derek and Derek hadn’t been there, hadn’t protected him like he should.

And now Stiles was a danger to them all, because Derek had failed to protect him. Now he had been taken and shaped into a killer, into something _his_ Stiles, the Pack’s Stiles would never have become.

“So how long had the mate bond started to form before Stiles ‘died’” Derek didn’t have to look up to know that Peter used air quotes around the word died. He did, though, and blinked at his uncle, who leaned against the doorframe.

“Since New Years.” Derek said, eyebrows drawing together, “why, here to berate me for it?”

“You think you’re the first one to lose a mate, pup? Wherever the Roux took Stiles, it was far enough away that the bond stopped forming. Now he’s back and it’s only going to get worse.” Peter stepped into the room, “We need to get him back. We need him in our possession, not theirs, expose him to his father, to the pack, anything. There has to be something to trigger his memory.”

“It’s disgusting.” Derek said, gritting the words through his teeth, “He’s not himself. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even smirk. He just stares. He’s a coil of anger and he’s not Stiles.”

Peter nodded, “That’ll happen when you lose your entire memory and then you’re taught to be a person you’re not by a family filled with insanity, that kind of thing happens.”

A thought occurred to Derek on the word ‘family’ and he looked up at Peter with horrified eyes, “Has anyone told the Sheriff.”

-

It was a perfectly reasonable January afternoon when Sheriff Stilinski lost his mind. He lost his mind because walking down the street, with a group of unfamiliar people, he saw his son, his only son, his deceased son. Walking, and talking, with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his hair longer than it had been, standing with his back straight and his lips pressed into a thin line and in every way his son and in every way not.

The sheriff had to pull off the road and put his car in park and sit and try to remember how to breathe for a moment because he had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be real, because he’d buried his son, in the plot in the graveyard next to his wife. And he’d adopted the pack because without them he’d be so completely and totally alone that he felt like his everything was going to explode. He stared at the family, at the boy he knew and didn’t know.

His hands shook as he pulled out his phone, calling the first number that came to mind, the only person who would give him straight answers right now. “What the hell is going on? Why is Stiles walking around Beacon Hills?”

Derek’s breath was loud on the other end of the phone, “He’s alive.”

The phone nearly slipped out of the Sheriff’s grip but he clenched his hand around it at the last minute, “What?” He said, his eyebrows drawing together, “There was no way he could have survived that fall. We were sure.”

“He’s alive, Sheriff.” Derek sounded tired, “He’s been kidnapped. He doesn’t remember any of us, and they’ve probably made up some kind of lie to make him not trust you either. “ Derek sighed, “Peter wants to talk to you.”

The elder Stilinski was still silent when Peter Hale came onto the line, “John.” He said, “If you can, you need to get close to Stiles. You need to see if you can’t…trigger something. Even if it means you play along with whatever convoluted story they’ve pumped into his head. We just need to find something that gets him back. If we don’t get him back soon, who knows what they’re going to try to pull.” Peter let out a sigh, “We need Stiles back or they’ll use him like the weapon he’s been created to be and he’ll destroy the pack.”

The Sheriff took a few breaths, “I’ll see what I can do, Peter. “ He licked his lips, “How…how did this, how did no one know?”

Peter made a tsk sound with his mouth, “That’s a conversation for another time. We’re going to get him back, John, for your sake, for the pack’s sake, and for Derek’s sanity.”

“And for Stiles’ sake.” The Sheriff added, “Because he’s more important than any of that.”

“No one will question you on that one.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry Y'all, I didn't mean for this to take so long. You have no idea (or maybe you do) how much work I've had to do recently, but regardless, I'm going to try to write the rest of this, and then I'll start posting again. Remember to follow my tumblr or track the a fleeting memory tag for updates!

“So do we actually have a game plan or are we going in blind?” Stiles asked quietly as he and Argen walked back to the motel from their morning jog. Stiles had struggled to run through the sleeping pills he’d taken, but was back to full speed now, and his thoughts were crystal clear. The block on his memories was always most annoying now, when he was fully conscious, when he was aware that sixteen years of his were gone. He eyed Argen warily.

“You’re going to school.” Argen said, “You and Sicily both. To Beacon Hills high. You’re going to pretend to get close, learn their habits, their hangouts, and when you’ve gained their trust—it shouldn’t take long—you’ll lure them out into the open and we’ll take them down.”

“How exactly have they broken the code again?” Stiles walked with his hands on his hips, “I mean you keep saying we need to do this but they don’t seem dangerous.”

“Stiles you’ve never once questioned my orders.” Argen turned to the young man. “And now you’re finding that to be a good idea?” They’ve broken the code just like every other werewolf pack you’ve ever helped us to take down.” Argen eyed him. “Is there something you need to talk about son?”

Stiles shook his head, pushing the thoughts of the night before out of his mind. He headed in to shower. As predicted, Sirenia had his medication ready for him and he swallowed it down. It was easier when he couldn’t feel. It was easier not to think. Arguing with Argen was pointless.

As he was coming out of the shower, dressed in dark jeans and a red T-shirt, he heard a knock on the room door and stepped so that he could see who it was as he rubbed a towel over his hair.

The Sheriff of Beacon Hills stood at their door and Stiles blinked at him over Sirenia’s head,

“Can we help you, Sheriff.” Sirenia asked politely, “I’m surprised you’d even come here after everything that happened last winter.”

The look on the Sheriff’s face wasn’t quite what Stiles had expected it to be. Instead of guilt or remorse, it was anger, it was grief, it was confusion. Stiles knew that the Roux’s had taken custody of him; why? They’d never answered his question, “I’m here to see my son.” He said, his voice rough, “And I’ve got a lot of questions for you.” He glared at Argen, who had stepped to Sirenia’s side.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, John.” Argen answered, “Stiles is still recovering from what happened. We’ve got all the paperwork you’ll need to see, custody paperwork, hospital records. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to talk to Stiles, though.”

“He’s my son.”

“He was your son, John.” Sirenia’s voice was sweet and soft, “But he’s our son now, we love him, and he’s still fragile.”

“Let me talk to him.” Stiles said, tossing the towel aside, his face set in a passive smile. “I don’t remember what happened. What can it hurt for me just to talk to him?” He smirked at Argen, “We all know he isn’t exactly a threat to me.”

John flinched. What kind of killer had they turned his boy into? “ See, just a conversation.” He hesitated. “I’ll bring him back.” His teeth were set on his words, they were grating, slow, undesired.

Sirenia turned to face Stiles, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, love. Especially after you had such a hard time sleeping last night.”

“Sirenia, I’m fine.” Stiles grabbed a hoody and slipped socks and shoes on carefully, “He wants to talk. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Let him go for a walk.” Sicily said, smirking, “He’ll be fine.”

Stiles moved past Argen. He eyed the man who they called the Sheriff. Stiles didn’t know how he had known who the man was before he’d even said a word, but he had. This man was imprinted in Stiles’ memory too deeply to have been scraped off, even by whatever had had made him forget the rest of his life. He held out a hand for the sheriff to shake and the mans grip was clammy but warm and firm. The two left the motel room, walking shoulder to shoulder.

“How are you?” The sheriff asked, “I’ve missed you, Stiles.” There wasn’t a single bit of a lie in the statement.

Stiles shrugged, “I’m okay. I’m sorry that I can’t say that I miss you too. This whole situation is just confusing with the injury and Argen and SIrenia being granted custody of me and all.” He looked at his father as they stood by the police cruiser, “I’m still…I don’t remember much of anything about life before I woke up.”

The sheriff’s face was pale and his expression was blank as he remembered Peter’s advice. “How long did it take you to wake up?” He asked, breathing a little unsteady.

“I’ve been awake eleven months now.” Stiles answered. “Sheriff—“ He pretended not to notice how the man flinched, “Can you tell me what happened? Argen and Sirenia have never been clear with why I’m with them.” Stiles’ head was foggy now, and he knew it didn’t help his ability to focus.

“I think that’s their story to tell.” John replied, crossing his arms over his chest, “They said you’re fragile, they don’t want to shock you, probably.”

Stiles sighed, “That’s what they’ve told me for nearly a hear.” He shook his head, standing perfectly still, glancing at his father’s eyes, “Are the Hale p-family troublesome?”

John understood what Stiles was asking, and for the first time, he caught a glimpse of his son, the one he’d raised. “Never.”  He answered, “They’re upstanding citizens, the lot of them.”

Stiles’ face grew concerned, “Have there been any strange deaths recently?”

The sheriff shook his head, “Not in nearly a year.” He prided himself on not choking on the words.

Stiles nodded, “Thanks.” He held out his hand, “Maybe we can get dinner sometime.” He flashed a not-quite-smile in his direction.

John shook his hand again, “I’d like that.”

Stiles walked back to the motel room and John climbed into the cruiser, hardly making it to the next block before he had to stop, the grief hitting him.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Stiles being dead, or Stiles being some strange not-Stiles that he barely recognized as having raised. This young man, with a serious expression and anger in his heart, was everything the boy John had raised hadn’t been. This Stiles was calculated and lethal but also, just as the Roux’ had implied, fragile. John could tell he was scraping at memories, begging for answers. If they were going to get him out and in one piece, it would have to be done carefully and quickly.

He dialed Peter’s office, and Derek’s beta answered on the first ring. “Hale.”

“That wasn’t Stiles.”

“Impossible.”

“No, it was Stiles, but he’s not himself.” The Sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose, “What are our chances of getting him back if it’s been eleven months and he doesn’t have a single memory?”

Peter paused, “John are you sitting?”

“Yes.”

“In a normal situation of Amnesia, it can take years to bring memories back, but,” he swallowed, “Derek and Stiles initiated a mate bond.”

John stared, “Do I want you to tell me what that means your nephew did with my underage son?”

“Nothing serious, or this would have already been over. The bond was in its infancy when the attack happened, which is why Derek was such a mess, but had the bond been more formed, Derek would have been able to locate Stiles,” Peter ook a breath, “still with me?”

The sheriff swallowed, “Yes.”

“If Derek is close enough to Stiles, the magic that surrounds them is going to fix him. It will restore what he’s lost.”

“How close are we talking?”

“Skin contact. Mutually desired skin contact.”

“This Stiles is never going to want to touch Derek or let Derek touch him.”

“That’s not strictly true. If Stiles was, per se, trying to kill Derek, which is more than likely what he’s been trained to do, he’d want to touch Derek.”

The Sheriff let out a breath. “He’s dangerous, Peter. Do we really want to provoke a fight? Last time we fought I lost my son.”

“And if it doesn’t happen, Derek might die anyway, and Stiles will still be gone, unless they just kill him once he’s killed Derek and he’s no good to them anymore.”

“We could call the FBI.”

“Be real, John. These are werewolf hunters, one whiff of the officials and they’re going to be gone, and then we might never get Stiles back alive.”

“How do you pick a fight with werewolf hunters?”

“Oh we don’t.” Peter laughed, “But dangle any hope of getting Stiles back in front of Derek or Scott, and they’ll find a way to break the code.”

“Are they going to kill someone?” John asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose again.

“Nope. But there’s been talk of adding a new werewolf to the pack.” Peter smirked, “We’re going to get him back, John, I’m going to do everything in my power.”

“I believe you.” John said. “But I shouldn’t.”


	10. Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm very very very sorry for how long this took me. I just lost all inspiration to do anything an it's taken me literally months to get it back. Here is the next installment. This is a bit of filler, and some bamf!girls action and I AM IGNORING ALL OF SEASON THREE P. MUCH BECAUSE I HATE IT (I'm kidding I love it) but this fic was never really canon anyway. As always, I own nothing, hopefully this still has a following.

“So you’re telling me to get Stiles back, all we have to do is pick a fight with werewolf hunters and get Stiles to try to kill Derek?” It was Scott who finally spoke, sitting on the arm of the couch next to where Allison had sank in, much like the rest of the pack, overwhelmed with the information that Peter and the Sheriff had just given them. He stared at the back of Derek’s head, where he had turned away, watching out the window of the house. “Derek?” Derek was the alpha, there was nothing any of them could do without his go ahead.

“Does Danny still want to be a werewolf?” Lydia asked softly, something firing in her mind faster than anyone elses’ as had become a usual thing since Stiles’ disappearance. “I mean, I know he knows about all of this and he’s said something about being a werewolf, and maybe we wouldn’t even have to bite him, just pretend to.”

“Says one of three humans in the room.” Erica snarled, “It’s not like…something you fuck around with, Lydia. You of all people should know that. Werewolf magic is weird.” She rolled her eyes and looked at Peter, “What if it doesn’t work? And we let Stiles get close enough to Derek to kill him? Then where do we stand? Because our fearless-leader-turned-moping puppy-dog clearly won’t actually defend himself, do we just let Stiles kill him? Because I tried to find a new Alpha and it wasn’t fun. I’m not down with following that jackass.” She pointed to Jackson who gave a cocky smile and let his eyes flare blue.

“Did you forget who you were talking about, Erica?” Derek had turned around, seething, exactly the response that Erica had hoped to get from him. She was the best, really, at riling him up. “This is Stiles. He was your friend, he’s my mate. If I can’t fix him, can’t bring his memories back, I don’t want to keep going. I wasn’t sure he was dead, that was what’s kept me going for the last year. If he’s alive and he’s a hunter and he wants to kill me, let him.” Derek snarled at her, looming over her until she dropped her eyes. He turned his gaze, flickering red, on Jackson, “Call Danny.” He hissed, and was barely out the door as he shifted, running before any of them could stop him.

He was running to the place where his heart was. He was running to the exact place he shouldn’t be. He was running until he was close enough to smell him clearly, to sit and let the wind drift the smell of him closer. His wolf whimpered, his human craved. He wanted to touch and hold and taste and make sure that Stiles was his Stiles, was still whole, was still okay. He knew there was something missing from the version of Stiles that everyone had seen. He was still, he was cold and collected. There was no warmth left in him. It was terrifying and Derek wanted his old Stiles back more than anything else.

But instead he just waited, he knew the pack would be able to pick a fight, they’d been doing a fine job of it without him being involved back two years ago. No really, especially with Peter’s help, they wouldn’t need him for this. Except that it was him that the Roux were targeting, that much was painfully obvious by their choice of kidnapee.

Derek stopped before he made a mistake, before he got too close.  He needed a chance, needed a few seconds or minutes alone with Stiles, but he knew that would never happen. The Roux’ weren’t a new family of hunters, they knew what they were doing, the risks they were running in returning to Beacon Hills. And Derek knew right now, they had the power in this situation, they had the prize.

\--

Stiles knew something was wrong as soon as he and Sicily walked through the doors of Beacon Hills High. He remembered the twists and turns of the hallways, how to get to the office to get his schedule, where the science wing was. It was surreal. The stares were worse, though, especially once he’d dropped Sicily off at her class, eyes on alert. The number of werewolves in the school was surprisingly lower than he’d expected, seeing as apparently the Hales were terrible wolves, breaking the code to replenish the pack that had died in  the fire.

There were only five wolves and two humans who were suspiciously close with the wolves. All of them, save for one looked concerned when they looked at Stiles, looked upset about whatever was going on, but whatever it was, it was beyond Stiles current scope of imagination.

Part of training was working on listening, hearing things, watching for passed notes and text messages. The humans of the group were the least sneaky, the human girls, Allison and Lydia, talking in hushed voices about plans and about whatever they thought was going to go on tonight. Stiles only looked once, to be sure it was them, and Lydia looked like she wanted to cry and Allison just looked nervous. He  didn’t know exactly what was his best plan of action, not the best at making friends, but he figured if there were any he could stand to befriend, it was going to be them.

After class he waited, stepping up as they walked out of the room, “Allison, um…Lydia, right?”

The girls stopped, Lydia turning first and then Allison. “Yes, Stiles?” Lydia asked.

“I just…I know everything…” He stopped, “I’m as lost as you two are.” He decided on, “But I’m pretty sure sitting at lunch by yourself still sucks.”

“Are you asking to sit with us at lunch?” Allison asked, laughing. “Stiles, we’d love to, but we just…can’t.” He felt more hurt by the girls words than he’d expected to, “We have plans to make with the rest of our friends. Big night tonight.” She winked and she and Lydia bounded away.

Stiles’ brain hurt from trying to decode what they were saying. Why were the pack acting weird? And what was going on tonight.

\--

“Breathe.” Lydia rubbed at Allison’s back where they stood in the girls bathroom. “You can apologize after we have him back.” She had tears in her own eyes.

“His face, he looked…” Allison took a breath and steadied herself, “Lydia what are we going to do if this doesn’t work.”

“It’s not going to.” Both girls turned to the new voice, a girl with dark hair and clear eyes grinning at them where she was fixing her makeup in the mirror, “The Stiles you think you know, he’s so far gone, so  buried beneath what we’ve built him to be.” She smirked, “Sicily Roux.” She turned to give the too-charming, too-sweet smile. “I haven’t seen you two in far too long.”

“I haven’t seen you since you were nearly a fetus.” Allison said, nostrils flaring with anger as she took a step towards the girl, “What have you done to him?” She stared at him, “My mate and our Alpha are both suffering and it’s your fault.”

“Well not soley mine.” Sicily picked at a nail, “I mean, to be fair, its more my parents fault than mine. They came up with the plan. I just play along.” She stared at Allison and Lydia, “But I’m just telling you now, give up while you can, convince your Alpha to give in, It might just save your lives.”

“And who’s going to save your life?” The fourth voice to enter shocked all three girls, and Sicily was slammed into the wall between two mirrors by an angrily growling werewolf. “Who’s going to protect some little brat like you.”

“I suggest you put me down.” Sicily said, “Because I have weapons that can seriously damage you. And from what I hear, there’s a gathering tonight.”

Erica released Sicily, “What do you know about anything?”

“I know enough that you want me to stay quiet about it. Wouldn’t want my parents to take the turning of a new werewolf  as an excuse to take down the pack. Now that we have Stiles, we have the ultimate weapon.”

Erica snarled and Allison touched her shoulder, “How do we know you’re going to stay quiet?” She asked, eyes flashing.

“She’ll stay quiet.” Lydia said, eyeing her, “Because she’s lazy. If she was really a hunter, she’d have just killed Erica, instead she hesitated. She doesn’t have the heart to be a real hunter. She doesn’t have the steel.” She smirked, “She doesn’t actually want a fight she knows she’s going to lose.”

Sicily stared at Lydia, “I’m leaving now.” She shoved Erica out of the way and exited the bathroom, “Better hope I keep my mouth shut or it’ll go badly for everyone.”

Once she was gone the three girls looked at each other, each relaxing for a moment. “Do you think that’ll work?” Erica asked Lydia, “That kind of a challenge?”

Lydia shrugged, “We have to hope, we have to get Stiles there somehow.”

“What if Lydia’s right?”

“What if?”

Erica shrugged, “Then we hope the boys did a better job than us.”

Allison laughed, “For some reason, I had a lot more faith in ‘the boys’ when ‘the boys’ included Stiles.”


End file.
